


Walking After You

by coveryourheads (rsk110)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, One Shot, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsk110/pseuds/coveryourheads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to 'Already Behind You'.<br/>Daryl & Glenn, Daryl & Merle, Daryl & Father, past and present relationships.  Trying to figure out where he belongs even though one is blood, the other is heart.</p>
<p>Some spoilers if you've not watched Season 3 Episode 9~10 yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking After You

**Author's Note:**

> Sticks to the canon other than the Daryl/Glenn thing.
> 
> Again, **spoilers**.  
>  Though, no word-for-word dialogue from the episodes because I don't have them. :)

*** 

The heart is terrorizing sometimes. How it beats, how it betrays, how it moves the body forward. 

He tries hard to remember a moment where he'd ever felt calm. Never. Each day of his life ever since he can remember, his heart has been beating hard inside his ribcages. The fear of being beat so badly, biting down on his lip until it breaks apart; the heart never ceased the way he'd wanted it to. Staring down at the scars through his body, through the mirror, his heart beat so hard for the hatred, for the constant fear. Crouching against the wall, under the table, or the nook under the cellar staircase to hide, his ears rang with his heartbeats. The day his brother left, just disappeared, he'd tried so hard to not cry. The anger, the abandonment, and the thrash over his back from his Pa even though it hadn't been his fault that Merle left, all had made the blood rush around his body. And the constant berating, that maybe it's all his fault, and no one loves him. It isn't true; he knows it. But he can't help thinking them sometimes. 

And then he meets a boy. A boy whose eyes are too black and too large. He's a frightened thing, almost like a reflection of his youth. He doesn't think he deserves it; but he can't stop the too fast contractions of his heart muscles, the quickening shortness of breath. The heart betrays any of the previous thoughts he's ever had about another person. It makes him believe that maybe, he is allowed this. And he moves forward, to capture the bony shoulders, pulling him in for an awkward embrace. He realizes that Glenn's heart rushes the same as his. The bodies shift and mold to fit in what he thinks as achingly perfect. For the first time in his life, he thinks that maybe, he's allowed to be happy. For the first time, the heart allows calm. The world, though it's so fucked up in all ways possible, feels like he can own it. All of it. 

*** 

Merle's always been a tough motherfucker and the punch he pulls on him hurts like one, too. Daryl doesn't bother trying to hide the scream of pain, taking another fist to his cheek, another kick to his stomach. He thinks Merle's going to kill him; he doesn't think to retaliate. The nagging feeling of being ten years old comes back again, where Merle punches him after Pa has beaten him unrecognizable. It isn't his fault, he knows it so well. Another pain whips over his skin. It's real. So tragically real. 

Daryl is deafened by the crowd. Noise is something he can drown out. But the heart is not. He tries to get up, to fight back. He's made a promise. He's going to keep it no matter what. Walkers are released into the crowd. He takes another punch and hits the ground. Thick legs trap him. He can't believe what Merle is saying. How is he going to get them out of this? As if he's ever been there for him. Daryl tries again. Then smoke covers everything. People are screaming from something else. There are gun fires, semi-autos. Rick. Daryl is on his feet. Merle drags him away, screaming into his ear. He doesn't forget to snatch his crossbow from one of the men who'd been keeping him tied up. 

He doesn't ask about anything. He just follows Rick and Maggie through the woods. Merle grumbles to himself, and snarls at the girl. He isn't even thankful they'd come to save their sorry asses out of that goddamned village and the Governor. Maybe Merle hadn't wanted it; he'd lived there after all. The sun is up. Daryl slows down to walk behind the rest of them. From there, he can study what's become of his brother's hand. It's a crude thing. He doesn't know what he'd expected. It certainly isn't a metal stump. And it's also the thing that beat Glenn to a bloody pulp. It boils his blood once again; the blood he shares with this man. An unfamiliar man. 

Too distant. A shadow of another shadow he barely knows of another shadow of his father whom he hates more than anything; that is what he sees. Chills run up and down his skin at the thought of it. Merle; he even resembles their father now. Rick shoots him a look. Daryl nods. I'm alright. Rick glances over at Merle who sneers at the ex-sheriff. And Maggie doesn't slow down, keeping her pace fast and her finger on the trigger of her rifle. Daryl takes several deep breaths to clear up these useless thoughts. He has a job to do. He has to get back to them. His family. To Glenn. It's so close. But the prickling at the back of his head doesn't go away. He wonders if he'll ever be safe. 

*** 

Life happens and disasters strike. Out of disasters, soil is turned. Out of new soil, a flower can bloom. From the flower, hope can flourish. Or die, shriveled and trampled on. It's either, or. And Daryl has never doubted the logics he'd formed. Like, bruises are easy to get, but they take days to fade. They fade, eventually, but scars are permanent. From scars he receives looks. Like his gym teacher, who'd seen the scars, never bothered to do anything about them. These looks add up and they, too, turn into permanent scars. He lives with them forever, or forgets them as the days pass. Too many feet stomping on him had left him with nothing. 

Until Glenn wept. 

'How can your father do this to you?' 

'Doesn't matter. He ain't here now.' 

'Aren't you angry? Sad?' 

'No. Neither.' Because when his father had beat him, he beat down the spirit inside him, too, replacing them with the things he wasn't. But a disaster had happened. Soil turned. And turned. And turned. A flower bloomed. And for once, he'd been able to fight back anyone who tried to trample it. And hope had flourished. 

'What about your brother?' 

'He left.' 

'He left you?' 

'Look, my life ain't perfect, alright? But I'm still alive, and I can fend for myself. I don't need you feeling sorry for me. It's all in the past.' His voice had gotten louder. He hadn't meant to. The one thing that can destroy this beautiful thing, is himself, turning into his old man. That, he can fight and fight. 

'I wasn't trying to be sympathetic. I,' Glenn pauses. He pushes back his hair. The heel of his palm presses his eye. He speaks through tear-clogged throat. 'I was trying to say that... that I love you, despite everything.' 

Logic is illogical. A thing he'd never thought possible, is that after the repeating cycle of his logic, something illogical, irrational happens. The sun shines down bright and the flower blooms, grows taller, as tall as a tree, reaching towards the clear sky. Like... 

'I love you, too, kid.' 

*** 

Glenn's voice rings through his thoughts. _Daryl!_ It reminds him of the first time he almost lost him, before he had meant so much. The irony is that time he'd found Glenn and lost his brother; this time, he's found his brother and he's lost Glenn. He walks away. Glenn is practically begging and hyperventilating for him to stay. Talk for a minute. Half a minute. Look into his eyes for a second. When he does, he wants Glenn to understand. If he can't, who will? 

"Take care of yourself." 

"I can't believe you're walking out on us. Me." Glenn's flustered face messes with the bloodied, blackened eye. Daryl can't bring himself to explain that he's got to keep Merle safe. By the look on the girl's face, she will cut Merle in half with her katana, no remorse. And he has to keep Glenn safe. And safety is keeping Merle away. It aches to walk away. It's painful how easy it is. 

"Daryl... Daryl!" Glenn's voice echoes. 

"I kept my promise. I came back. And I..." he chokes on the rest. Daryl looks into those eyes in hopes he'll understand. Glenn, he looks like he's just lost everything. Anger flares up, his pale skin turning red. "I have to go." 

He walks away, helping Merle to his feet. He is steady and they walk into the woods together. And he's missing something. There are no heartbeats deafening him. 

*** 

The first time he lashes back at his Pa, he'd cradled his fist afterwards. There is blood on his face, nose bent at an angle. There is blood on his knuckles. And Pa chuckles his scratchy sinister laughter, spitting blood onto the carpet. 'Well, you're a Dixon alright.' 

He's a Dixon. There ain't no way he can change that. He pours Pa's moonshine over his throbbing knuckles, and leaves the bottle on the table. He strolls out with his crossbow and the hunting knife Merle's forgotten in his dresser. He haunts the woods until the next morning. When he comes back, Pa's on the couch. The moonshine's all gone. So is his heartbeat. There is no telephone to call for help. He runs down to his neighbor's. A dog barks. The old man chews on his gums. The bleary eyes stare at him. He lets him call the police. He tells them not to bother with the doctors. His Pa is already dead. The sheriff and his deputy arrives three hours later. They don't even question him. 

Because he's a Dixon. He only has a few months until he turns eighteen. There's no use turning him over to the county. The young deputy gives him a card when the sheriff is not looking. 'In case you need something.' 

The sheriff looks down at his knuckles, swollen from the contact over his Pa's face. He's weighing the likelihood of a kid murdering his father to the good riddance of Dixon and his drunken antics all over town. The deputy is looking at the bruises on his face, on his arms, heavy with sympathy. What he's learned to hate more than the eyes studying him like the sheriff is doing, is the show of sympathy he doesn't want, like the deputy. 

'You got a plot?' 

'What?' 

'Where you gon' bury your Pa?' 

'In the ground.' 

The deputy finishes up the report. They get into the old squad car. 

'Come down to the coroner's in a few days to pick up the death certificate.' 

Daryl never does. The deputy shows up alone with the certificate sealed in an envelope. He finds Daryl in the backyard, shoveling dirt over the coffin he's made out of plywood. A box. The deputy rolls up his sleeves. 'Let me help you with that, son.' 

Daryl doggedly refuses. When the ground is even, a hand finds his shoulder. 'It's all over, Daryl.' 

It's the first and last time he ever cries because of his father. Or maybe, for himself. 

*** 

He knows exactly where he is, although Merle is mocking him. What the hell does he know? He's not been in Georgia until the day he desperately needed him. He knows the woods. Merle is just... Merle. 

They go around in circles because Merle's sense of direction is fucked up. He still thinks he's leading, but he doesn't realize they'd already come this way a few hours ago. He's frustrated and tired. Only a few days ago, he'd fallen asleep with Glenn's arms clinging to his waist, the slim smooth leg tucked between his. Daryl shakes the thought. He'd walked away. 

They argue again. They disagree again. Merle laughs at his face but he looks over his shoulders at him. Daryl still has a place to return to, a family. Merle does not. Merle is the one who's lost everything. Daryl, he's had everything, and he'd thrown them away for him. Blood. Because he's a Dixon. 

It isn't survival he wants dearly. He wants to be who he was born to be. Daryl. He'd had it. He's reverting back to a Dixon. 

They come to a river. They see people on the bridge, fighting off walkers. Daryl rushes to help. He hears the ear ripping screaming of a baby. _Lil' Ass-kicker_ … He loads his crossbow, aims and hits his target. The moment he pulls the trigger, the beating is back. The heavy thumping of his heart, loud in his ears, are sliced by the screaming of the baby inside the car. The only moment Merle decides to help is to shoot a walker who'd gotten close. Daryl had his hand on his knife. In the final moment where it was not needed, Merle declares himself a hero. Daryl kicks the body away. He retrieves his bolts with distaste. He threatens Merle to just let them go. He isn't kidding about it. 

They argue in the forest. Merle is shouting at him. He's shouting at Merle. He's sick of him. He's sick of being a Dixon. Most of all, he regrets leaving his family behind. People _he_ has chosen to be his family. And the boy... The boy he cares for more than... More than Merle. Merle pushes him, roughens him up. His shirt tears down the back. It's the first time Merle looks helpless. He doesn't know. He's a Dixon. 

"I can't go back there!" Merle explains. In this moment, he realizes that, Merle, too, is scared to death. Of being alone, of being left behind. 

*** 

'You'll come back, right?' 

'All the time.' 

The sweet soft lips. Drowsy, sleep laced smile. He can trace it up to the perfectly straight nose. When his eyes are shut, the long lashes flutter over his cheeks. There is a scar near his temple he says he got from baseball. There is another scar on his arm. Another, on his side. And, no, Glenn does not explain. He shrugs it off, the same lame excuse about baseball. The last time he'd checked out a game, the sharpest object in the whole field was the pen stuck in the umpire's shirt. But it's okay about the scars. They make him less perfect, like, he can sometimes believe he's allowed this. He just swallows the lips, opening up for him. 

'You're my sanity in this world.' Glenn says sleepily. 'Without you, I think I'll go mad.' 

*** 

He stares through the fencing at the prison. Rick clasps him on the shoulder. He nods at him, trying to figure out the aftermath of the situation. He can see his people, his family, standing together to study the damage. The walkers that have taken over the field again. They have to find safety again. But now, Daryl can't think through the fast beating in his ears, in his head. Glenn is gripping the fencing, staring right at him. 

"All the time." 

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> I think I may have to edit this later.


End file.
